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“I have studied for years under the guidance of Running Elk, Midewiwin of the Falling Snow Clan.”
“You speak with a forked tongue,” he grumbled. “I know Running Elk well and he is gone.”
“Yes, he has passed and now dwells in the afterlife, but not before sharing his wisdom. I have knowledge of the Fire circle and the Mide Mantra and it’s possible with seven Midewiwins to open the dark veil.”
“And unleash what?” he roared. “Do enough deadly spirits not roam this land now?”
“I understand your fears, but we seek only the six. Over a thousand years ago, they prophesized that over time, as the moons wane and seasons pass one to another that the seventh would lose his powers. It’s happening,” she said, “and in desperation, he has taken residence within the body of a Descendant, walking this veil for short times, only to feed.”
The Midewiwin’s began to mumble among themselves, firelight dancing in their faces.
“We must act quickly,” Larkspur said. “He is seeking to kill a newborn and take its body and if that happens he will become an unstoppable entity and I assure you, none will be safe.”
“She speaks the truth!” Torin shouted. “He has already murdered females in and around the Soo. If we don’t stop him he will wipe out the Chippewa and then move on to the other tribes. He is drawn to your lineage, it’s in his blood and yes, I am his Descendant and I can smell your fear, you wear it like a heavy burden, but I’m on your side. My heart belongs to a Chippewa and I, like many of my fellow Descendants have learned to control the hunger. We do not kill, but hear me, Midewiwins. The seventh will unleash his wrath, it’s in his nature, it’s who he is and his lust for indigenous blood is insatiable. Do not turn your backs on your people, I beg you. Help us.”
A great silence fell upon them, the fire popping and in the distance, the haunting sound of a loon breached the night. The Midewiwin turned to the three and with arms draped one to another, heads bunched tightly in a circle they mumbled among themselves. After what seemed forever, though it was only a splinter of time, they stepped back and the old Midewiwin who had warned Donja, circled the fire, his gait stiff and measured. He stopped, keeping a safe distance between himself and Torin.
“You, with the pale hair,” he said, pointing to Makayla, “do you speak our language?”
“She does not,” Larkspur said but I’ll interpret, “go ahead, speak your mind.”
“Does this Descendant feed on and kill Chippewa?”
Larkspur spoke to Makala, who shook her head side to side. “No.”
“We feed on animals,” Torin said.
“And what of you,” he asked with steely eyes boring a hole into Larkspur.
“No, I may be Iridescent, changed by a Descendant, robbed of mortality, but in my heart, I am still Chippewa, Larkspur Anishe, Durent Clan, daughter of Mink and Great Wind Anishe, now dead hundreds of years. Their souls as well as that of all Anishinaabe cry for mercy. You must help us!”
The old man turned back to the elders, something unspoken flowing between them. Eventually with the fire popping, he heaved, turned back, and faced off with Torin. “We will help, but heed the warnings. We are dealing with spirits which may rob us all of life.”
Torin bowed. “I am honored, Midewiwin. I am certain that you have knowledge of the Mide Mantra and according to Larkspur, I am told that we will need seven Midewiwin to open the veil. Can you find three more to assist?”
“We will call upon the clans,” he said.
“Thank you.”
The Midewiwin turned back to his companions. “Let us gather and fill our medicine bags.” He turned back to Torin. “I want you to know that we help you for the sake of the Ojibwe, it has nothing to do with you or this woman,” he said eyes on Larkspur. “You are both demons and the misery brought upon the clans for the last thousand years cries for vengeance.”
“You’re wrong,” Torin said.
“Then I challenge you to prove that you speak the truth. Show us that you have a pure heart, that of a warrior.”
“How?” Torin asked with pleading eyes, “how can I do that?”
“Protect our lineage.”
Torin dropped his head, Anstosa’s dying pleas in his mind. He swallowed the pain and raised his head.
“I will.”
~~~
In the wee hours preceding dawn, Larkspur gathered the Midewiwins inside Hampton Manor and in her native tongue, discussed the history of the Chippewa nation, miseries of the Durent Clan, the Seventh Miigis and finally…the Circle of Fire. The old Midewiwin’s chatted among themselves, pulling potions from their medicine bags, tossing dust into the fireplace which burned red hot, warming their faces. Finally, after blessings, prayers and hours of chanting, the Midewiwin’s retreated to the basement and after smudging, sat alone in their makeshift Sweat Lodge, meditating.
Just past dawn with sunlight breaking the horizon, they gathered outside Hampton Manor, new recruits from the Old World Council joining rank with the Canadian and U.S. forces.